I constructed this very rough maquette for Arthur Denison's submersible using cardboard for the body profile and a clear plastic egg shape, which I filled with kit-bashed plastic model parts. The long gray pieces came from a model railroad supply store.

As you can see, I didn't follow the maquette closely at all, but it was really valuable for imagining Arthur Denison's submersible. I also referenced reconstructions of Bushnell's Turtle, a Revolutionary-era ancestor of submarines.


Combined with a kronosaur maquette that I had on hand, along with underwater photos of whales, I felt more sure of myself when I tackled a more difficult scene like this one, from Dinotopia: The World Beneath. 

Reference maquettes by paleoartist Mick Ellison

"I make quick maquettes from paper by cutting up my sketches and filling them out with tape or newspaper... here's a quick pic of one I'm using for that Andrewsarchus illustration I'll be working on."

Reference maquette of Sinornithosaurus by Mick Ellison

"And here's the maquette I did of Sinornithosaurus using those rooster hackles I mentioned to you. You can get them online at fishing supply places like the Caddis Fly Shop, or if you ever find yourself down in the feather district along 38th Street [of New York City], I go to the Feather Place. I found that dipping the ends in Duco worked best for easy manipulation/placement and they set securely after several minutes."

If you ever need small figures to populate a reference miniature or architectural maquette, you can find these sets of unpainted plastic figures from a model railroad supplier. They're shown here next to a raccoon skull and a mouse skull and an inch ruler for comparison. Typically the poses are standing and sitting.


They generally come in white unpainted plastic or painted. You can get them in sets, where the cost averages about a dollar each. They are scaled to all the standard model railroad sizes, such as HO, S, O, etc.

Visual effects pioneer and stop motion animator Ray Harryhausen died Tuesday at age 92.


In 1993, I visited Ray, who invited me to his London home. On the top floor was his studio, which he jokingly called his “den of iniquty.” He showed me many of the original models from his classic films, which were gathered together like aging actors waiting to be called back onstage.